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0lh ©reams; 

LOVE LYRICS 

by 

Qeorgiee Reed Bradbury 



PETER G. BOYLE : PUBLISHER 
269-275 West 17th Street, New York 



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COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY PETER G. BOYLE 



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SC1.A681568 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 7 

The Songs of Yesterday 8 

Oh, Teach Me, Life 9 

Little Boy Blue — Good-Bye 10 

My Inspiration 11 

Drifting Dreams 12 

Our Wonderland .- 13 

The Bluebird 15 

Human Nature 16 

The Broken Vase 17 

You 19 

Longing 20 

My Hour 21 

In After Years 21 

The Gift 22 

Summer Time 23 

The Luncheon 24 

Life 's Request 25 

Call of the Wanderlust 26 

Dreams of the East 27 

My Lady's Eyes 29 

My Heart and 1 30 

Dusk 31 

The Change 32 

Lost Treasures 33 

My Sorrow 35 

Love's Enigma 36 

The Lore of the Screen 37 

Be^vutiful Leaves 38 

The Moth and the Butterfly 39 

Just Today 40 

Walls of Memory 41 



CONTENTS— Continued 

PAGE 

The Wayside Flower 43 

The Waltz 45 

For the Man I Love 46 

Fate of the Roses 47 

A Dream 49 

The Rose and the Song 50 

My Fate 52 

Red Roses 54 

The Three Gowns 56 

Carolie 58 

Personal 59 

The Fancy Ball 60 

The Dreamers 62 

It Pays 63 

A Song 64 

The Boast of the Pine 66 

Song of Summer 68 

You Kissed Me 70 

A Voice 71 

The Dream of My Secret Love 72 

Requiem 74 

Since You Have Gone Away 75 

If 76 

My Books 77 

Driftwood 79 

Voices of Spring 80 

My Wealth 81 

A Summary 82 

The Ghosts of Yesterday 83 

Humbleness 84 

Retrospection 85 

A Crimson Rose 86 

Reminiscence 87 

The Way of Woman 89 

My Dream 90 

Dead 91 

A Memory 92 

The Old Gold Days 93 

Gossip Only 95 



FOREWORD 

IVe sought to sing in simple rhyme 
The songs that overwhelm my heart, 
And offer to a generous throng 
The dreams and fancies of my mart; 
IVe always loved the jingle world, 
The magic of its light and lilt; 
So sail with me to that fair isle, 
Where castles of the mind are built; 
Some, perhaps suggest a smile, 
Others hold a hint of tears. 
And thus I offer, modestly. 
This humble patchwork of the years. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

ROSE LEAVES AND OLD DREAMS 

The scattered rose leaves of a hundred flowers 
Have given forth their sweetness, and for me 
Have drooped and withered in their sad decay 
Leaving but a fragrant memory ; 
And those old dreams, that waken, undesired. 
To taunt me with their all-insistent flames 
Will burn and smoulder 'til the end of time — 
Nothing mortal can efface their names. 
Oh, why must memories so intangible 
Come like Arabs in the hush of night 
To steal the peacefulness of graying years, 
And then again like Arabs take their flight? 
Oh, folded tents of days that are no more. 
Oh, wilful captive of the shriveled years — 
Why, why, invade with painful vagrancy, 
And weave for me that silver cloth of tears ! 
Oh, scattered rose leaves of the hundred flowers 
I loved and left beside the garden way, 
Why must the fickle breath of amorous June 
Waft back the vanished sweets of yesterday? 
Oh, cunning gambler in the game of life. 
At last we find you cheated, broken, spent; 
Left to face each grim, accusing ghost. 
And pay them slowly, fully, cent by cent. 
I tremble at my hopeless, ceaseless task; 
The fabric of my very life, it seems. 
As frail and useless as a poet's song. 
Is woven just of rose leaves and old dreams. 



8 Rose Leaves and Old Di^eams 

THE SONGS OF YESTERDAY 

As time steals by and the years grow gray, 

We turn to the songs of yesterday — 

When the world. was new and the skies were blue 

And everything seemed so real and true, 

The days, my dear, when I first met you — 

The days when our hearts were glad and gay 

With the wonderful songs of yesterday. 

The fire is low in the grate, tonight, 
The trees are leafless, the ground is white ; 
And I dream and long, for the tender song, 
While memories crowd like a restless throng. 
To taunt me and tell me of right and wrong — 
'Til my heart and my mind trail far away 
To the vanished wonders of yesterday. 

Back thru the meadow of sun and shade. 
By the silver stream and the leafy glade. 
We wander and sing while the echos ring 
With the jest of youth and the lilt of spring, 
And Love is crowned — as our King — our King. 
Though our health and our wealth may drift away 
We still have the songs of our Yesterday. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

OH, TEACH ME, LIFE 

Oh, teach me, life, to bear another's sorrow. 
Teach me how to feel another's pain, 
Let me learn a kindness for the morrow, 
Tell me how to love another's gain. 
Teach me how to guide another onward 
Through the rain and mist of weary years, 
Keep my hands forever pure and stainless. 
That I may brush away another's tears. 

Oh, teach me, life, the happiness of living. 
Tear the selfish greed from out my heart, 
Let me do my share of kindly helping, 
I do not wish to play a minor part ; 
Teach me, tell me, how to love another. 
Place a grand compassion in my breast, 
Let my voice be soft, and low, and tender, 
That all who hear, may feel a sense of rest. 



lo Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

LITTLE BOY BLUE— GOOD-BYE 

Little boy blue — I have given you 

The best I have in my heart, 

Though our love must be but a memory, 

For our paths lie far apart. 

Mine through the city's crowded street. 

With never a rock nor a rill, 

And yours away, the livelong day, 

O'er meadow and field and hill. 

Little boy blue, I shall think of you 

When the evening shadows fall. 

And tending your sheep, on the hillside steep, 

Will you listen and hear my call? 

Oh, send me a kiss across the miles, 

'Twill brighten my graying sky, 

Oh, blow your horn, through the rosy morn, 

Little boy blue — good-bye. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams n 

MY INSPIRATION 

You are a voice in the stillness, 
A solace that's hovering near; 
You come in the drift of the darkness 
When all else is silent and drear. 

You are an echo that lingers, 
That rings in my world-weary breast ; 
You are a song in the quiet hours 
That calms me and lulls me to rest. 

You are the wind at my casement. 
That croons when I'm lonely and sad; 
You are the flame that inspires me 
And tempers the good and bad. 

You are my star in the darkness. 
You are the strings of my lute ; 
And oh, should you snap them asunder. 
The throb would be voiceless and mute. 

Oh, stay 'til my songs are finished 
Oh, stay while I yet have grace. 
Then put me away like a broken viol. 
And tenderly close the case. 



12 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

DRIFTING DREAMS 

When I am alone, some way it seems, 

I drift away to the land of dreams ; 

Away from tomorrow, away from today. 

Back to the heart of a vanished May. 

Plow strange it is as the years roll on. 

We still remember the pleasures gone, 

And sigh and smile as our fancy wings 

Us back to the realm of vanished things ; 

Flowers and trinkets, laughter and song 

That were of the old days, gone so long. 

It isn ^t the future, it isn 't the now 

That smooths the care from the troubled brow, 

It^s the magic of dreams that sweeps away 

The care and the sorrow of our today, 

And whirls us back for a little time 

To the days when life was a golden rhyme 

Where ever and ever the sunlight gleams, 

And youth lives on, in our drifting dreams. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 13 



OUR WONDERLAND 

When the day has ceased its laughter, 
Ceased its sobbing and its song 
And the night comes stealing after 
With its shadows, dark and long, 

When the moon from sight is hidden 
And the stars no longer shine. 
Then I wander off, unbidden, 
To that wonderland of mine. 

There I always find you waiting — 
Waiting, dear, beneath the trees. 
Where the birds are ever mating — 
And there ^s lilac in the breeze. 

I can feel your clinging fingers 
Tremble as they touch my hand, 
Oh, the ecstasy that lingers 
In our golden wonderland! 

There is never time for sorrow, 
There is never time for woe. 
We are heedless of the morrow. 
Just the now is all we know. 

Take, oh, take my worldly splendor, 
Take the pleasures of each day, 



14 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

But, oh, leave this realm, so tender — 
Do not take my dreams away. 

Take each earthly hope and treasure, 
Take my wealth, and castles grand; 
Only leave the hours, full measure. 
In our golden wonderland. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 15 

THE BLUEBIRD 

(NOTE: — It has been stated that in many localities the 
bluebird does not sing) 

Somewhere in the world, where skies are bright, 
And leafy boughs fling out their emerald arms, 
Where rippling waters sparkle in the sun 
And nature flaunts, unchecked, her myriad 

charms ; 
Somewhere in this voiceless paradise. 
Where sylvan music echoes through the glade, 
Tis said the bluebird sings a gladsome song, 
A joyous, unapplauded serenade. 
Happiness, why must you hide away 
Amid the forest's vastness, all unheard. 
When many a heart, perhaps, would throb anew 
To hear the merry carol of a bird? 
Bluebird, sing your song unto the Avorld 
(Wee sapphire symbol of life's happiness) ; 
Waste not your music in the forest's depth. 
But sing where all may grasp your loveliness. 



1 6 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

HUMAN NATURE 

Although we love the plaudits of the world 
And strive for place, and honor, and respect: 
Yet let the ones we love fail in their praise, 
And in our hearts we feel a keen neglect. 

For, after all, no matter what- we do, 
No matter how our paths in life may run. 
There always are ^^the few^' we long to please, 
E *en though the world bow down in unison. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 17 



THE BROKEN VASE 

As I gathered up the fragments 

Of that treasured broken vase, 

I could not keep the tears that welled, 

From coursing down my face. 

Many years I'd loved and kept it 

Just to grace my desk of oak. 

And its finely chiseled beauty 

Oft unto my fancy spoke; 

Spoke to me in sweet suggestions 

Of someone I used to love — 

Oh, that dragon-headed handle 

And the neck that rose above 

Were so perfect and artistic, 

Both in color and design, 

I have clasped it oft in rapture, 

Happy that I called it mine. 

It was made to hold but roses — 

Rarest of all flowers that grow — 

And it made a wond'rous setting 

For the vivid jacqueminot. 

But today I find it shattered. 

Broken by some careless hand; 

Or perhaps the wind, at havoc. 

Tossed it from its oaken stand — 

Just a tragic bit of hist'ry 

In the world of bric-a-brac. 

But I, the mourner, would pay dearly 



1 8 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

Could I have it safely back, 
For the dreams that clung about it, 
Woven there, invisible, 
Might, if told in truth or fiction. 
Many a goodly volume fill. 
But it lies there in the silence. 
Just a semblance of itself. 
While I gaze with eyes of anguish 
At the desk's deserted shelf; 
Sick at heart with grief, unuttered. 
Just as if some treasured friend 
Had been stricken down in mystery, 
With no mortal to defend. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 19 

YOU 

I never see the magic blue 
That floods the summer skies 
But what I see — in simile — 
The azure of your eyes. 

I never see a sunbeam steal 
Within the window space 
But what I see — in imagery — 
The gladness of your face. 

I never see the yellow leaves 
Come fluttering through the air 
But what I see — ^in memory — 
The glory of your hair. 

I never hear a wild bird sing 
To make the world rejoice 
But what I hear — in fancy, dear — 
The music of your voice. 

I never feel the evening breeze 
Come stealing from the sea 
But what I pray that God — some day — 
Will bring you back to me. 



20 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 



LONGING 

Far in the woodland's dreamy solitude, 
Unmindful of the world's incessant strife, 
I long to drain the humble cup of peace, 
I long to really scan the book of life. 

Alone, beside the margin of a stream, 
That runs, unhampered, singing, on its way, 
Soft music, like the sacredness of prayer. 
That might inspire sinful souls to pray. 

I long to feel the pureness of the dew 
lUpon my aching brow at early morn 
That it may cool the fevered ebb of thought 
And soothe the wounds of many a mental thorn. 

And then, perhaps, a bluebird or a thrush 
To break the sacred hour of reverence. 
While as a sort of tribute to my soul 
The wild flowers offer rare and rich incense. 

I long to feel the evening's cool and hush. 
Where strident voices cannot pierce the calm. 
While memories like old music, throb again 
Softly — like the singing of a psalm. 

And in the stately grandeur of the glade, 
Where all is still, beneath the heavens ' blue, 
I'd gladly stay for all Eternity 
If I could face the Vastness, dear, with you. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 21 

MY HOUR 

You are not here today to see the sun, 

Or touch the flowers that I have plucked for you ; 

You are not here to help me as of yore, 

To lighten every task I have to do; 

And yet old music lingers in the dusk. 

Old fancies and old memories, come to me 

Until I feel your presence in the room 

This sacred hour — my hour of reverie. 



IN AFTER YEARS 

In after years — ^in those strange years, unborn, 

Those years that harbor faith and hope, innate, 

I wonder — will you come to me again, 

Or will I still be left to wish and wait? 

If we could only scan the page of time, 

If we could know the things that are to be, 

Oh, would we do and dare, as we do now. 

Or would we pray to God for mystery? 



22 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

THE GIFT 

When shadows fall athwart the golden spring, 
And Indian Summer shows her lurid smile, 
I turn my face toward the eventide 
And visions of the silver afterwhile. 
When fading Autumn spreads her tarnished wings 
And Nature dons her robe of sombre hue — 
'Tis then amid the wreck of happy things 
That I would give my tired soul to you. 
A gift, perhaps, that may be poor indeed. 
Burdened with the gleanings of the years. 
Though one that failed to flutter, wholly wrecked, 
Adown the dark abyss of earthly fears. 
I stand within the twilight's silverness, 
Brave enough to offer you one smile. 
Strong enough to sweep aside the past 
And walk with you into the afterwhile. 



Rose Leaves arid Old Dreams 23 

SUMMER TIME 

Summer time was made for dreams, 

For songs and love and laughter, 

For vows and hopes and promises 

Despite what may come after. 

Come, Nature, spread your emerald arms 

And tune your songster's voice, 

And weave again your flowery chains 

That we may all rejoice. 

Oh, give us back the daisy fields. 

The music of the brook — 

For Nature's voice can teach us more 

Than any sage or book. 

The meadow lark's familiar voice 

Is sweeter far to me 

Than all the soulful utterings 

Of some great rhapsody. 

The sunset's crimson in the sky. 

The shadows on the lake 

Set forth a picture for us all 

That all alike may take. 

I love the fragrant clover fields. 

The droning of the bees. 

The tuneful ripples on the stream, 

The sighing of the trees. 

I love the Summer through and through, 

Each glory I adore — 

The wonder playtime of the year 

Alike for rich and poor. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 



THE LUNCHEON 

In an alcove, shaded and sheltered 

From the glare of the summer sun, 

We sat at a mission table. 

Our luncheon for two, begun. 

There were rolls and a tempting salad, 

With plenty of mayonnaise ; 

A glitter of dresden and silver 

Worthy of poets ' praise. 

Olives and salted almonds, 

Mints, and Majorie's tea; 

For this was Marjorie's luncheon 

And I was the guest, you see. 

There were creams and delicate ices. 

And cakes and womanish things. 

But somehow, they suited and blended 

With the glitter of Marjorie's rings. 

There were squares of monogrammed linen, 

And flowers and pieces of lace. 

But the best, if I still remember. 

Was the flush of my lady's face. 

And the *^ something '' she said in answer 

To my question over the tea 

At Marjorie's royal luncheon 

Given in honor of *^me''. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 25 

LIFE'S REQUEST 

Give me the mauve of the summer moon, 
Give me the gleam of the sun, 
Give me the scent of a wine-red rose. 
And the smiles of every one. 

Give me the gladness there is in life 
That I may be broad and kind, 
Give me the strength to fight my way. 
And a sound, unfailing mind. 

Give me honor and give me truth, 
Grant me the gift of health. 
Give me the clear sight of the just, 
I do not ask for wealth. 

Give me laughter and give me song. 
Courage and hope and pride. 
That I may look the world in the eyes, 
With never a deed to hide. 

Give me the love of my fellow men. 
The clasp of a friendly hand. 
Give me wisdom and perfect peace 
And the power to understand. 



26 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

CALL OF THE WANDERLUST 

*Tis not because I love you less 

That I must leave you so ; 

*Tis only the call of the wanderlust 

That bids me come and go. 

I am called, sometimes, by the long gray road, 

The meadow, the hills, the lea, 

Out where the white sands shift and drift, 

By the margin of the sea; 

I am called, sometimes, by the silver night. 

Or the golden sun of noon, 

A dewdrop beckons, at early dawn. 

Or I hear the west winds croon; 

Perhaps the voice of the meadow lark. 

Or the lonely cry of the gull. 

Or the sea, gone mad, in the gusty night. 

Or the ocean's calm and lull. 

Whatever it is, it gets me, dear. 

It whispers, it calls, it sings. 

It pulls, it pleads, and tortures me, 

Till I long for the gift of wings. 

Goodbye, goodbye, to you, then, my dear, 

For up and away I must, 

I cannot resist that restless call — 

The call of the wanderlust. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 27 



DREAMS OF THE EAST 

When the wings of the day are folded 

And shadows of lilac and gray, 

Softly descend and tangle — 

In an intricate, mystical way ; 

When the breeze from the sea comes wooing, 

And the stars decide to shine, 

The '' Dreams of the East^^ enfold me, 

And the wealth of the world is mine. 

I see the lights of the Temple, 

I hear the clang of the gong. 

And then — in the hush that follows — 

The soft, sweet, strains of a song; 

A song that will ever thrill me, 

Just as it thrilled me then 

Where the painted wind-bells tinkled, 

To the strains of the samisen. 

Where the incense curled, and vanished, 

Into the silken gloom — 

Back in the **Isle of Blossoms *^ 

Laden with rich perfume. 

Back in * ' The Land of Romance ' \ 

With a song and a scent in the air. 

Where the nightingales ' soft cadence. 

Seemed filling the everywhere. 



Oh, bring me the silken pillows. 
The dragon-jar and the fan, 



28 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

The screen and the incense burner, 

The sandals, and quaint Chawan; 

Open the lattice wider — 

For only the stars may see — 

And the wind-bell there in the casement 

Has many a word — for me — 

And here in the scented silence. 

In the glow of the crimson light. 

Wrapped in the silks of the Geisha, 

1*11 live in the east — tonight. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 29 

MY LADY'S EYES 

My lady's eyes, so sweetly wise, 

So full of tender feeling. 

The open windows of a soul 

That well is worth revealing. 

Your lips may utter pretty words. 

Your smile bespeak of gladness. 

When in your eyes I see a look 

That hints to me, of sadness. 

Oh tell-tale eyes, I well surmise 

When clouds begin to gather. 

And silently I breathe a prayer. 

For changes in the weather. 

Your lips may tell me only half 

That lingers in your soul 

But when I look into your eyes 

I read, I know — the whole. 

Oh, liquid eyes. Oh, woman's eyes. 

Oh, brown eyes, worth believing. 

To me who knows your every look 

You cannot be deceiving. 

Your eyes, speak all your heart contains 

Of gladness or of sorrow. 

And tho the clouds prevail today 

Let's have the sun to-morrow. 

Let's have the sun, the golden sun, 

I long to see the splendor 

That shines within my lady's eyes. 

Those tell-tale eyes, grown tender. 



30 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 



MY HEART AND I 

One day my heart and I 
Went out in search of pleasure, 
We traveled far, my heart and I, 
And drank our wine at leisure. 
The wine was red with love. 
We drank full well, unthinking. 
And laughed aloud, my heart and I 
With pleasure, at the drinking. 

One day my heart and I, 
Came back with folly's token, 
We wept alone, my heart and I, 
The golden glass was broken. 
The wine had lost its glow. 
And bitter dregs we tasted, 
We lived and learned, my heart and I, 
That pleasure oft is wasted. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 31 

DUSK 

Slowly the dusk descends, and you have gone. 
Lonely and sad, I watch the shadows fall. 
And as I turn, bereft, to face the night 
I pluck a single rosebud by the wall. 

Oh, rose, together we shall droop and fade: 
WeVe passed beyond the noonday's golden glow, 
And left within the silver shadow-tide 
WeVe only dreams — the dreams of long ago. 



32 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

THE CHANGE 

You came — and the sunlight followed, 
The leaves of the forest stirred 
And from every tree there issued 
The sweet, glad song of a bird. 

I saw that the flowers were blooming— 
Their fragrance filled the air ; 
The joy of life was vibrant 
Because of your presence there. 

You went — and the blue sky clouded, 
The shadows lengthened and fell, 
And oh ! of the dark that followed 
Only my heart can tell. 

The birds had ceased their singing. 
The flowers were withered and dead — 
The only things that were living 
Were the wonderful words you said. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 33 

LOST TEEASUEES 

In a pensive, poetical mood, to-night, 

As I sit watching the embers bright, 

I would give, could I have them, twice the cost 

Of every treasure that I have lost. 

To have them, and heap them, here on the floor, 

Knowing the lock was turned on the door 

And I was alone, once more alone 

With all the treasures that I have known^ 

Those things that were of my life a part, 

I'd gather them all to my throbbing heart. 

But one by one I have lost them all. 

Gone like the leaves that scatter and fall. 

Gone like the summer, with bird and song ; 

The treasures of youth have vanished long, 

The beautiful years, like a golden chain 

Woven with pleasure and tarnished with pain. 

Could I reach back again just to-night 

Into the years that have taken flight, 

I'd lift each token out of the past 

Where they were carelessly, ruthlessly cast, 

For the sight and the touch would bring to me 

The vivid life of the used to be ; 

A package of letters faded and old, 

A broken locket of blue and gold, 

A fan, half soiled, at our last dance, 

A beautiful miniature, made in France; 

A book of verses composed by you, 



34 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

A signet ring and a bracelet too ; 

Even the songs you wrote for me 

I bnrned in a moment of tyranny, 

Into the grate I cast them all 

And watched them blacken and shrivel and fall 

To molten ashes, your world and mine ; 

Then kneeling there by the ruined shrine, 

I wept as a woman alone can weep 

Over the treasures she 's scorned to keep ; 

I went my way, and you went yours. 

But it isn't always that absence cures. 

For as I sit here alone, by the grate, 

I who have grappled and played with fate 

Would give, could I have them, twice the cost 

Of every treasure that I have lost. 

A link from the golden chain of youth, 

A draught from the broken cup of truth, 

A song to thrill me with life once more, 

A glimpse of the days, I still adore. 

Ah could I have them, free from blight, 

I'd laugh and be young again, just tonight; 

But oh ! the anguish of vanished years 

Have left me only a woman's tears. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 35 

MY SOBEOW 

I have a sorrow that shall stay with me 

Until I face the vast Eternity, 

A sorrow that has grown so deep and strong 

I hear its echo ring in every song, 

In every smile I see its mocking leer. 

In every presence, I can feel it near; 

I see it in the sunlight's golden ray 

And then it comes again at close of day, 

In the cool lake I see it mirrored there, 

It follows like a shadow, everywhere. 

At night when I am tired and long for rest 

I feel its weight upon my weary breast. 

My eyelids smart and burn with unshed tears. 

As I look down the pathway of the years 

And see, outlined, a crouching silhouette, 

My sorrow, hand in hand, with dark regret. 

If every friend and dear one I possess, 

Should cease to see my humble worthiness 

And leave me thus bereft and all alone 

There will, at least, be something I shall own, 

A pallid spectre — cold — invisible, 

Shall linger on, my aching heart to fill. 

And by my side — in silent shapelessness 

Will strangle my one hope — forgetfulness. 



36 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

LOVE'S ENIGMA 

Wliy do I love you! I do not know, 

There is no reason tangible or sane, 

Yet when the sun shines I can see your smile, 

And then your tears seem mingled with the rain, 

With each new day I feel your changing mood. 

Thus, vaguely, with your presence am I woo'd. 

Why do I love you ? I cannot tell, 

The mystery of it never shall be solved. 

For should I die — soul spent — a thousand deaths, 

Your heart, at least, would never be involved, 

Your smile is calm — you do not seem to see, 

When our eyes meet, love's deep intensity. 

Why do I love you ? God only knows, 

I cannot fathom why it should be so, 

In fancy only, do I touch your hand. 

Or feel the thrill that you shall never know, 

Yet when we meet, my soul is so upstirred, 

Sometimes I fear my heart throbs shall be heard. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 37 

THE LORE OF THE SCREEN 

Back in the realms of long ago, 
Back by the purling streams, 
Back where the skies were always blue, 
Is a land of vanished dreams. 

IVe drifted along with the sweeping tide, 
Where the waves were swift and deep, 
I've traveled far o'er the rocky trails 
Where the way was rough and steep. 

IVe searched for my land of vanished dreams, 
For the glen and the purpled hills. 
For the tender smile and the sweet good-bye. 
And the clasp of the hand that thrills. 

Weary and worn with the endless quest. 
At last — I have reached the goal, 
I have found my land of vanished dreams, 
And my tired, reflected soul. 

I have found my realm of long ago. 

My youth with its thrills and smiles. 

Where the Then and Now walk hand in hand. 

Across the world of miles ; 

Where the lights are soft and the music low, 

Where the whole of the world is seen, 

I have my youth and my vanished land, 

In the magic lore of the screen. 



3^ Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

BEAUTIFUL LEAVES 

Wind blown, and scattered, our beautiful leaves — 

Beautiful leaves of gold — 

Each played a part in the summer's heart, 

But the summer is growing old 

And the songs and the sighs of our beautiful 

leaves 
Are tired with the stress of time 
While the breezes that flattered the hearts of them 
Have flown to a warmer clime. 

Scattered and fallen, our beautiful leaves 
At the wane of the summer's breath 
While Autumn, that rival, of sterner mien, 
Shall claim you his own in death. 
So are we all but beautiful leaves 
Loved in the flush of spring, 
But oh, the sadness, the dearth and death, 
The Autumn of life must bring. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 39 

THE MOTH AND THE BUTTERFLY 

A gray moth fluttered forth one night 

To seek for the path of fame 

But alas, he beheld on his journey ^s way 

The light of a rainbow flame. 

He paused to gaze at this glowing blaze 

That filled his world with light, 

But alas, for the moth with the soft gray wings, 

For he scorched them black, that night. 

A golden butterfly, one day 

Set forth on her yellow wings 

To sip the heart of a honeyed flower 

For the happiness it brings, 

But she stayed too long in this land of song. 

Where beauty comes to grief. 

And left the love of a dozen hearts 

To die on a poisoned leaf. 

Alas, for the moth, with the soft gray wings, 

Alas, for the butterfly, 

Alas, for the song the siren sings 

To see young beauty die! 

Alas, for the tempter's smiling face, 

Alas, for the poisoned flower, 

Alas, for the life so often spent 

In the jest of an idle hour! 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

JUST TODAY 

Yesterday with all its pleasure, 
Yesterday with all its woe, 
Has departed like an Arab, 
No one, really, saw it go. 

And beyond the drifted darkness, 
Somewhere, back, our fancies stray 
To a shrine of sacred memories. 
All there is of Yesterday. 

Then Tomorrow seems to beckon, 
With a tempting, roseate smile. 
And, a maddened throng, we clamor 
For the golden Afterwhile. 

But an unseen magnet holds us, 
Bars us, on our frenzied way, 
Til, in turn, we comprehend 
That we only have Today. 

Just Today, our one possession, 
Just Today, 'tis all we own. 
Yesterday has gone forever. 
And Tomorrow is unknown. 

Think not of the Past too deeply. 
Nor the Future's mystic trail. 
Live Today, completely, fully. 
In a Day — no one can fail. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 4i 

WALLS OF MEMORY 

Crowned on the walls of memory 
Many pictures hang to-night, 
Pictures that the years have given 
As they passed me in their flight. 
Some perhaps bring tears and sadness, 
Others, smiles and laughter gay, 
Yet of all the host that hang there 
I would not take one away. 

Deep within my heart I've given 
Time and space to every one. 
And I love to dream them over 
When the busy day is done. 

There's a mother kind and loving, 
There's a father staunch and true, 
There's a sister sweet and tender. 
And a soldier boy in blue. 
Here's a dear old college fellow. 
Just an old, old, pal of mine. 
There 's a little childish playmate 
That I called my valentine. 
Here's another face and fairer. 
If I dare to put it so. 
One that seemed to guide me ever 
On the way that I should go 
Thru the years of young temptation. 



42 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

Thru the older paths of wrong ; 
She has held my soul in bondage 
With a smile, a word, a song; 
Tho ' her voice is hushed forever, 
The' her eyes are closed in sleep, 
Ever in my heart and memory, 
Her fair image I shall keep. 

And I often sit and wonder 
As I scan each loving face, 
Am I worthy of such homage, 
Will I merit such a place? 
For it^s sweet to be remembered, 
Sweet to leave a cherished name 
In the sterling links of friendship, 
Tho' we do not rise to fame ; 
Sweet to grace some wall of memory. 
For no mightier one shall stand, 
Tho ' we gain but humble mention 
On its tablets white and grand. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 43 

THE WAYSIDE FLOWER 

In the waste of a plain gray roadside, 

Where all was lone and bare, 

A wondrous blossom sprang to life — 

A blossom rich and rare. 

Each leaf, was a golden sunburst, 

Tipped with amethyst — , 

That every bee paused to caress. 

That every dew-drop kissed; 

And there by that dusty highway 

This flower in her dress of state 

Learned of her queenly beauty 

And dreamed of a queenly fate. 

She longed to bloom in a silver vase, 

That stood on an ivory stand. 

To win the praise of the fairest lips, 

And touch of a soft, white hand. 

She longed to rival the Lily and Rose, 

This poor little wayside flower, 

And her chance would have been a favored one 

Had she grown in a high kept bower. 

But there she stood by the plain gray road 

With a host of plainer Mn 

'Til she all but burst her truant heart 

For the unf orgiven sin ; 

For who would pause by the dusty road? 

Ah, never in such a place 

Would a soft white hand seek out a flower 



44 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

To bloom in a silver vase. 

Poor wild flower in your dress of state 

And your queenly purple and gold, 

You should not dream of a queenly fate — 

You sprang from an humble mould. 

Content yourself with God's decree, 

*'The best of your own fair cast,'' 

And grace the dust of the plain gray road 

While your beauty and bloom shall last. 

Still, the flower sighed on thru the summer days 

Proud in her regal gown, 

But the fates were cruel and stern, and hard, 

And they kept her hampered down 

Till at last to show how a hope may fail 

And a dream, that we cannot save. 

The wayside flower in her dress of state. 

Was laid on a pauper's grave. 

***Tis ever thus" the whole world o'er 

Tho' regal as any queen, 

Half of the truest ** Purple and Gold'' 

Is left by the way, unseen. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 45 

THE WALTZ 

*^Only a look and a voice/' how true, 
Only a few short hours of you, 
Only a waltz and a soft refrain, 
**And life is never the same again/* 

As your strong soft hand closed over mine 

I felt a thrill so intense, divine 

That just for a moment gliding there 

I ceased to think I ceased to care. 

I said no word but I closed my eyes 

And lived in a short sweet paradise, 

And yet thru the future's fitful haze 

I caught a glimpse of the after days 

Wlien your life and mine were as far apart 

As the smile of youth and a broken heart. 

'Twas only a brief sweet space of time, 
Only a touch of your hand and mine, 
And then but a memory deep, sublime. 
Only a waltz and a sweet refrain 
**AQd life is never the same again." 



46 Bose Leaves and Old Dreams 

FOR THE MAN I LOVE 

I shall dress for the man I love, tonight, 
In the gown that pleased him hest, 
I shall wear his diamonds in my hair 
And a red rose on my breast. 

I shall drink to the man I love tonight, 
From that sparkling yellow wine, 
That has torn a thousand hearts in twain — 
That has torn his heart and mine. 

I shall dream of the man I love, tonight 
I shall kiss his pictured face. 
And place it over my heart again 
In its old, old resting place. 

I shall love the man whom I love tonight 
In spite of the fiends of hell ; 
I shall dress, I shall drink, and wait for him 
With never a soul to tell — 

I shall die for the man I love tonight, 
With never a sob nor tear — 
And no one shall know, but the man I love 
When he finds me lying here. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 47 

FATE OF THE EOSES 

I saw the roses grow and bloom 

Beside the garden gate, 

80 beautiful they seemed to me 

I wondered what their fate. 

For one was red with passion's glow 

And turned her blushing face 

To seek the sun-god's warm caress, 

Nor dreamed of her disgrace. 

The other rose bloomed pure and white, 

And hung her modest head, 

To wait the pale moon's purer kiss. 

And trembled with a dread 

Lest some sin-tainted human hand 

Should touch her petals fair. 

And so she shrank, this stainless rose, 

From noonday's blazing glare. 

One day a sad-eyed child came by 
To beg a single bloom 
To lay upon her mother's grave — 
The white rose met her doom. 

The other grew beside the gate, 
And spread her crimson gown, 
To catch the golden yellow rays 
Of sunlight streaming down. 
That night a lover sought a flower 



48 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

To grace his lady^s breast, 

Of all that grew beside the gate 

This rose surpassed the rest. 

His lady reached her jeweled hand 

And took the fragrant bloom 

To pin beside her rounded throat — 

She loved the rich perfume. 

Her lover knelt beside her there 

And kissed her glowing cheek, 

And called her, too, a blushing rose 

As lovers often speak. 

While she with all her languid grace 

Returned each fond caress; 

And e'er he left her side, that night 

She gave her answer, **yes". 

Another night, a withered rose, 

A broken wine glass near, 

A few half smoked up cigarettes, 

A letter — all was clear ; 

He raised the withered flower and sighed, 

Oh, rose of red, you knew : 

As **like to like, and each to each,** 

Her soul was crimson too. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 49 



A DREAM 

I had a vivid dream last night, 

So perfect and so plain 

That I would give the years to come 

To dream it all again. 

I dreamed we wandered down a path 

With roses all a-bloom, 

And sat beneath the crimson shade 

To breathe the sweet perfume. 

The silver waters sang and danced 

In rippling melody, 

And no one knew the rosy bower. 

Excepting you and me. 

I looked into your shadowed eyes 

In silence — tense — divine. 

And then with sudden ecstasy 

Your lips were pressed to mine. 

A wild caress, the first sweet kiss, 

My lips had ever known ; 

It seemed as if your soul were mine 

And mine were not my own. 

And there beneath the crimson rose, 

From all the world apart, 

We drank of love from Cupid's cup 

A pledging heart with heart. 

The world may darken into gloom 
The stars may cease to shine, 
But I shall never, never lose 
This perfect dream of mine. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 



THE ROSE AND THE SONG 

You wore the rose I gave to you 

Above your truant heart 

Nor sighed to see the petals fade 

And the fragrance all depart. 

You tossed the rose I gave to you 

Aside with careless mien, 

And wore another ^s flower instead, 

Nor cared that I had seen. 

I found the rose I^d given you. 

And bathed it with a tear: 

That you had worn it but an hour 

Sufficed to make it dear. 

I pressed it in a tender book — 

''Between the pages white'* 

That I might treasure through the years 

The memory of that night. 

You sang the song I taught to you 
With careless look and smile, 
But every word and every line 
Did break my heart, the while; 
You taught another all our song, 
Nor guessed the secret pain 
That burned into my very soul. 
To hear it sung again. 
And yet — for all — we sang it first, — 
The best of it was ours, 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 51 

We sang it when the tune was fresh, 
As was the spring — with flowers. 
'Tisi winter now and all is cold, 
The dreary years are long, 
And yet — within my heart — I hold 
The memory of that song. 



52 Rose Leaves and Old Dreains 

MY FATE 

My fate lives half of the world away, 

Half of the world away from me ; 

And he is as handsome and tall and fair 

As any Saxon King should be. 

My fate has eyes of violet blue, 

And hair as yellow as beaten gold; 

His lips are as red as a scarlet flower 

And he grew from a family proud and old; 

His heart is a heart that's all a heart. 

Of staunch and sterling worth; 

But the distance dividing us, I judge, 

Is half of the peopled earth. 

Still I am his, and he is mine, 

As far as the fates will tell, 

And tho' he is far away, I know 

He loves me and loves me well. 

But the prayers of us have been in vain. 

The sighs and the yearning lips. 

It seems our love is the fated rose 

That the bee in his journey skips. 

Perhaps w^e have passed a thousand times 

Over the self -same sea; 

But there was never a signal shown 

To beckon my love to me. 

He is waiting and so am I 

But who is to know how long! 

It 's like a singer we hear in the dark : 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 53 



All we have is the song. 

Such is the sweet evasive love 

Of our written horoscope, 

Lighted at random long ago 

By the flickering torch of hope. 

He may marry and so may I 

But there will always be 

The soundless searching of soul for soul 

Until eternity. 

A prayer for him and a prayer for me, 

Two hearts so lone and riven, 

And a prayer for the ^ ' fates ^ ^ that held us back — 

Will they ever be forgiven? 

Sometimes at night when the stars are pale 

I see him standing there, 

His arms outstretched — outstretched to me. 

And the moonlight on his hair — 

The years are bitter and strangely long, 

But still in a dream I wait, 

And wonder, and think, some time, perhaps, 

I shall meet him, and know my fate. 



54 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

RED ROSES 

The red, red roses you sent to me 

I wore for the sake of them; 

But one sweet bud for the sake of you 

I broke from its slender stem 

And placed in a book of verses 

That you gave to me, long ago. 

Though the flowers I wore for their own sweet 

sake. 
And because I loved them so, 
The bud I kept for the sake of you 
And the dreams it brought to me 
Of the waltz and the song and the tender smiles 
And the things that seemed to be 
On that night of nights, which I contend, 
Was one delightful, harmonious blend 
Of youth and pleasure, and tender smiles. 
That were made to lurk in the afterwhiles 
Of life — when we may be — 
Far, far, divided by land and sea. 
And yet — I wonder — will you forget. 
That we talked, or smiled, or even met? 
I ask and wonder and yet who knows 
But I — I still have a faded rose — 
And a book of poems to speak to me 
Of the dear, dead days of the used-to-be ; 
For after all, there is Heavenly bliss 
In the faint, sweet touch of memory ^s kiss. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 55 



And I sometimes wonder if even you 
Wm think it a pleasant memory too, 
And look far back thru the golden haze, 
And live in the beauty of those old days 
Wlien summer and sunshine were all we knew; 
Now prithee-will you remember, tool 



5^ Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

THE THREE GOWNS 

The pale rose gown and the shimmering white 

On their hangers, side by side, 

Talked of the life they once had known, 

With a cast-off ^s injured pride. 

**I dwell in the past,'* the rose gown said, 

**I am frayed and a bit passe. 

My spangles are tarnished and dull with age, 

But still, I have had my day. 

Time was, when I glittered with life and light, 

I was praised and envied much. 

And many and many a time IVe known 

The thrill of a lover's touch: 

And the orchids that trembled above my breast 

With their delicate waxen leaves. 

Were the flowers I loved with my whole rose 

life— 
Ah, how the memory grieves." 

The white gown shivered and then she said, 

*^I too, must live in the past, 

Only an emblem of shattered hope. 

Forever aside I'm cast, 

But I linger on like a haunting ghost, 

I shall never be worn again; 

Even the sight of the pure white folds, 

Will cause but a look of pain." 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 57 

The little black gown as she heard these words, 

Shuddered with grief and sighed. 

For the only tale she had to tell 

Was the tale of a widowed bride. 

And thus they hung, those emblems three, 

On their hangers made of wood, 

The gown of Love, the gown of Hope 

And the gown of Widowhood. 



58 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

CAEOLIE 

Carolie, dear, I must leave you now, 

With your innocent eyes and your curl-kissed 

brow; 
You are sweet — God grant it — but I must go — 
I cannot stay when I love you so — 
You, with the dark of night in your hair, 
And the lure of your throat so white and bare, 
Here is a kiss — ^tis cool, I know, 
Carolie dear, I must go — must go — 
Maybe, some day, when the skies are blue 
The fates will carry me back to you; 
For you are the music that stirs my soul. 
That fires my passion, beyond control: 
But the chains of convention hold me, dear. 
To a written law controlled by fear. 
So until God's will shall make it right 
Carolie — this is our last good-night. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 59 

PEESONAL 

Isn^t it strange that we should have met, 

Face to face on the street — 

And stranger still that we should have been 

So perfectly calm — discreet f 

And yet the touch of your hand still thrilled, 

Your eyes had the same old look, 

But your smile was twisted and cynical 

Like the blase man in the book. 

We met — ^we parted — that was all. 

And soon you were lost from sight. 

But somehow your eyes — and your twisted smile, 

Haunted me all that night. 



6o Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

THE FANCY BALL 

We were both at the ball that evening, 

In our dresses decollette. 

And we bowed and smiled at each other 

In a dreamy, indolent way. 

She wore a shimmering yellow gown 

Like the gold in her hair a shade, 

And her fan moved idly to and fro 

As I passed in my pink brocade. 

Ah, the drift of that dreamy music, 
The glitter and whirl of it all 
Awakens the passion and splendor 
Of a dream I would fain recall. 
He stood by my side for a moment, 
And the glance from his eyes to mine 
Sent a fluttering to my heart 
That was pain, in a way, divine. 

Then in praise of my perfect dancing. 
And a smile that I can't forget 
We whirled away in a dreamy waltz, 
Ah, the memory lingers yet. 
Wliile she sat tapping her little foot 
To the time the music played, 
And I felt her look of jealous scorn. 
As I passed in my pink brocade. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 6i 



M 



Her turn was next, but they '*sat the dance 
And he lowered his dusky head 
Dangerously near to her own, I thought, 
Just to hear what she might have said. 
Ah what a picture she was that night 
In her diamonds, and silk, and lace. 
And the pale blush rose she idly held 
Shone deep in the flush of her face. 



But this was a long, long time ago, 

In the beautiful, golden years 

When our fatal girlish rivalry 

Was a battle of smiles and tears. 

For both of us loved him and lost him. 

Ah, the grief and pain of it all ; 

We played for the self -same heart and lost, 

In the whirl of a *^ fancy bair\ 



62 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 



THE DREAMERS 

June is here again mth her rose robe 

And not a dream weVe dreamed has yet come 

true, 
Can you explain why such a fate is ours, 
Knowing I am I — and you are you? 
The pathway we have chosen stretches far 
Where gorgeous blooms in sweet profusion blow. 
And yet, it seems the way is full of stones 
And we must halt and stumble as we go ; 
Your smile is sadder too, than it was once, 
And I can trace the furrows in your brow. 
I cannot fathom why your heart should grieve — 
We were no dearer then than we are now. 
We are a little older that is true ; 
But love and age together grow apace. 
And I could well endure the storms of time 
To see contentment written on your face. 
Perhaps we are but dreamers, you and me, 
And only those who toil can really gain; 
But still the toiler ^s life is hard and long 
And not without its bitterness and pain. 
So let us dream, for June is here once more, 
And each wee songster carols forth a lay 
And, rising slowly, far beyond the trees. 
Behold the silver moon of yesterday. 
Oh, Summer, stay until our dream is done, 
I would that we could chain the fleeting years ; 
Oh, smile again, sweetheart, as you did once — 
A dreamer's life was never made for tears. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 63 



IT PAYS 

Isn't it nice to be friendly 
And meet the world with a smile, 
Isn't it fine to share life's wine, 
With some one, once in a while? 

Isn't it great to be kindly 
And do something real in life. 
Isn't it grand to lend a hand 
In the world's dark way of strife? 

Isn't it big to be pleasant 
And never look for the flaws, 
Isn't it good to do as we should, 
In keeping* God's great laws? 

Isn't it really wonderful 

The happiness one can sow 

In sorrow's field, then watch the yield 

Crowd out the weeds of woe? 

Oh, it pays to be a factor, 

A power, in the mighty grind; 

It pays to smile and be w^orth while. 

For the rich returns we find. 



64 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

A SONG 

In the hush of a purple twilight, 

When all the world was still, 

I heard the strains of a tender song 

Sung with a singer's skill; 

I paused for a while to listen, 

And there in the silver glow 

I dreamed of a song, and a singer. 

Who sang to me long ago. 

Tho' the voice of the singer is hushed for aye, 

And my heart still feels the pain. 

There in the hush of the twilight 

I heard the song again, 

And saw her sitting beside me. 

Under the old rose tree, 

But bitter and keen was the anguish 

The memory brought to me. 

A song and an unknown singer, 

'Tis well she will never know 

How the song she sang in the twilight. 

Was breaking a heart with woe; 

As the last, sweet note was sounded. 

And silence held the air, 

I could still hear the sweet words ringing, 

And echoing, everywhere, 

'Til the stilhiess grew wild with music, 

'Til my heart grew wild with pain. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 65 

For the voice of the first sweet singer 

Seemed singing to me again, 

I bowed my head in the twilight, 

And wept as a man can weep, 

For the song had wakened a heartache 

I had fancied fast asleep. 



66 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

THE BOAST OF THE PINE 

A proud old pine was heard to boast 
To the flower that grew at his feet, 

* * I am the King of the mountain side, 
And my reign has been complete ; 

I am the strongest and oldest here, 
I have braved the storms for years, 
I wave my arms in the fiercest winds, 
And laugh at foolish fears. 

* * I am the first to greet the sun 
In the morning cool and bright. 
And the last to see him sink away 
At the feet of the moon, at night; 
Nothing can mar my rugged bark. 
Nor touch my guarded heart. 

While you, poor flower, must droop and die 
When the winds of winter start.'* 

But, scarce had the King of the mountain spoke 

To the flower at his feet, so pale. 

When a woodman swung his fatal axe 

With a will that could not fail ; 

Straight to the heart, the keen blade went, 

Then a mighty fall was heard. 

And the King lay prone on the mountain side, 

With never a farewell word. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 67 

The timid flower all white and lone, 
Looked long at her murdered host, 
Then said to the breezes passing by, 
**Not even the great should boast/' 



68 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

SONG OF SUMMER 

Night, with its million beauties, 

The moon, the attendant stars, 

The soft, enchanting shadows, 

The silver moonlight bars 

That slant o^er field and meadow; 

The purring of the breeze, 

The fragrance of rose and lilac, 

The music of swaying trees ; 

And the dreams, the dreams of Summer, 

Those lazy, delightful dreams. 

When life is a blissful pleasure ; 

How beautiful nature seems. 

In her robes of green and yellow 

With her melody of song. 

The night birds softly singing. 

The evening cool and long. 

The ring of youthful laughter. 

The strollers under the trees. 

The soft air tuned and vibrant 

With wonderful harmonies. 

Night, with its million beauties. 
Night of the August moon. 
How thankful we are to nature 
For such a glorious boon. 
The gift of a golden summer, 
The light and the cheer it brings 
To the cold bleak hearth of sorrow 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 69 

Like the whir of an angePs wings; 
It passes, and leaves us hopeful, 
Hopeful, and rich in thought. 
Ah, think of the peace and comfort 
Soich beautiful days have brought! 
You may sing of the snows of winter, 
The rain and the freezing sleet. 
Of the homeless, hopeless, wanderer 
Pacing an icy street, 
Hungry and tired and frozen 
Alone in the winter storm. 
But give me the glad old summer, 
With its sunshine melting warm. 
And the starlit night that follows. 
The flowers and the nesting birds — 
Ah, where in all the language 
May I search for praising words 
To sing my song of summer. 
The queen time of the year. 
When the rich have bowers of beauty 
And the poor have naught to fear! 

Night, with its million beauties. 
Day, with its sun and shade. 
Ah, many a hope will languish 
Wlien summer begins to fade. 
So, give me the warm old sunshine 
And the shade of a kindly tree 
When the whole world goes rejoicing 
With a smile for you and me. 



70 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

YOU KISSED ME 

The night was pale and still 
And only its repose 
Was broken by the falling 
Of a dew-drop on a rose. 

Out of the somewhere then 
You came and stood before me 
While silently I felt 
Your tender eyes adore me. 

Your arms and then your lips^ — 
Oh, dear-heart have you missed met 
Or, is there, maybe, a regret. 
Because you came and kissed me? 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 7^ 

A VOICE 

A voice from the hills is calling, 
A voice from the hills of dream, 
It sounds like an echo falling 
On the breast of a placid stream; 
Softly the ripples hold it 
And carry the voice along 
'Til it sounds as the waves enfold it 
Like the strains of a drifting song; 
A voice that shall haunt me ever 
Thru the weary grind of the years, 
A voice that shall taunt me ever 
Like the sound of falling tears. 
I heard it first in the summer. 
In the twilight, among the flowers, 
I heard it again in the Autumn, 
It came in the quiet hours. 

And now that the snow has fallen 
And drifted against my brow 
The sound of that voice was never 
As sweet as I find it now. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 



THE DREAM OF MY SECRET LOVE 

There is nothing so sweet in all the world 

As the dream of my secret love, 

Tis sweeter far than the breath of a rose 

Or the coo of a pure white dove. 

As the sun goes down and the hills turn gold 

And the evening shadows fall, 

The dream of my secret love creeps forth, 

The king of my heart, my all. 

'Tis only a dream, but oh, how sweet, 

*Tis only a dream but it^s mine. 

And no one shall know I cherish it 

By a word, or a look, or a sign. 

My eyes are calm — ^my lips are mute, 

But deep in my soul is a fire 

That shall smoulder on 'til the end of time 

With the flame of a great desire ; 

The one sweet sorrow within my heart 

Locked with a secret key 

That is rusted with tears and buried long 

In the sands of obscurity ; 

Shall someone find it and bring it back. 

That key that is rusted red ? 

All, no, it shall stay, unknown, unsought, 

Like the graves of the unmarked dead ; 

But the dream it has locked within my breast 

Shall live 'til my heart is dust, 

While the key I gave you to have and hold 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 73 

Is buried and red with rust. 

It was someone's fault — was it yours or mine? 

It matters little or not ; 

I have the dream locked safe and sound 

You have — I wonder what? 



74 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 



EEQUIEM 

Wlien you are dead, dear heart, when you are 

dead, 
I wonder — can I dare to speak your name, 
Oh, can I dare to shed, for you, one tear, 
Or shall I still be censured, just' the same! 

Yet while you live upon this sordid earth 
There is no kindly word that I can say. 
Nor dare I trust the glory of your eyes, 
For fear I, too, shall Avaver on my way. 

Oh, wayward one, why hast thou strayed so far 
From God and truth and all your fellow men. 
That I, who love you, would not even dare 
The venture of your name, by word or pen? 

And yet when you are dead, my dear, my dear, 
1^11 go at night to kneel above your dust 
And plant a pure white rose upon your grave. 
The emblem of a woman ^s love and trust. 

Oh sometime, when grim silence fills your world, 
And you have passed the shadowed portals thru, 
I'll close my tired eyes upon the light. 
And follow thru the darkness after you. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 7S 

SINCE YOU HAVE GONE AWAY 

Since you have gone away, I walk alone 
Thru pathways we have often trod together, 
Thru all the flowery fields we two have known 
I walk depressed, despite the glowing weather. 

For me the sun has gone behind a cloud, 
The meadow-lark has ceased his roundelay, 
And all the world seems mantled in a shroud. 
Since you have gone, since you have gone away. 



7^ Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 



IP 



If you were a star, as bright and far, 

As the brightest star that beams, 

I would look each night 

At your starry light. 

And love you in all my dreams. 

If you were a rose, that grows and blows, 
As red as a rose can be, 
I would go each morn. 
For the tear of a thorn. 
Because you were dear to me. 

If you were a stream, beneath the gleam 

Of the wildest storm that raves. 

I would bury my face 

In your cold embrace. 

And die in the rolling waves. 

If you were but mine, and I were thine, 

And the world were Paradise, 

I would suffer the Hell 

Where the Angel fell. 

To live in the light of your eyes. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 77 

MY BOOKS 

Dear treasured friends of my every mood, 

Was ever a lady so charmingly wooed? 

Was ever one wooed as you can woo, 

With your beautiful stories, so old and so new? 

Dear little volumes of red and gold, 

What a deep, great place in my heart you hold, 

What a store of secrets you have to tell 

To make me thoughtful and glad as well ; 

My faithful friends by day or by night. 

My friends forever, in darkness or light. 

My treasures now, my treasures for aye — 

Not for an hour or not for a day 

But ever; and so, till the end of time 

You speak to me softly, in story or rhyme ; 

You cheer me and calm me, and lull me to rest 

As the sand by the sea is stilled and caressed. 

With your soft leather fragrance, and edges of 

gold. 
There is nothing on earth I would gladlier hold: 
Not the hand of a prince, nor lover, nor king 
Could e 'er from my soul such a melody bring. 
You stir me, and fill me with story and song. 
You teach me, and tell me of right and of wrong; 
Why shouldn't I love you, dear treasures of mine. 
Grown dearer with age like the rarest of wine? 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 



This queer little volume (the gift of a friend) — 
What memories, rare memories, about it do 

blend ; 
What beautiful thoughts of my father and mother 
Are wrapped about this one — and that one, my 

brother. 
Each book has a story, both inside and out : 
Two reasons to love them — and rivals, no doubt. 
Though the whole world grow cold, with critical 

looks, 
I still have the love and the light of my books. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 79 

DRIFTWOOD 

As perfect as Adonis to the eye — 
I met you in the glory of your youth; 
Broad of shoulder, lithe and pantherlike; 
Deep blue eyes, apparent wells of truth ; 
Nut-brown hair that fell in truant waves 
Back from a forehead broad, and smooth and fair; 
A firm cleft chin, a finely chiseled mouth ; 
A godlike face, untouched, unmarred by care. 
I came by chance to know you passing well; 
I loved your smile, the music of your voice; 
The hero of a thousand vivid dreams — 
A man mthout a conscience or a choice, 
A ne'er-do-well, a drifter, hopeless quite — 
I cannot call you by one worthy name — 
And yet, were I a painter of Greek gods 
I'd hand your worthless image down to fame. 



So Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

VOICES OF SPRING 

Come, dear old earth, spread your carpet of green : 

The voices of Spring are calling 

And, deep in the wildwood, with anxious refrain 

The song of the field lark is falling. 

Hard by the roadside and brookside and stream, 

In the sunlight ^s generous mellow. 

The violets and buttercups welcome the Spring 

In a gala of purple and yellow. 

First of the wild flowers for eager young hands 

To search for in ecstasy rare. 

First beauty blossoms for fairies of youth 

To twine in their gold-flowing hair. 

Come, dear old earth, 

Spread your carpet of green, 

The first flowers are budding and blowing. 

And louder and louder the voices of spring 

Thru wildwood and meadows are growing. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 8i 

MY WEALTH 

My only gold is the golden sun, 

My silver, the moon on high, 

My diamonds, the stars that gleam and glow, 

On the breast of the sapphire sky. 

My only song is the lilting lay 
Of the wild bird, flitting near. 
The rippling waters ' lazy croon, 
The west wind's cry of fear. 

In my vast estate of nature's wealth. 
Are smiles and sighs and tears. 
And bridges built of hopes and plans 
To span the sweep of years. 

And in my great inheritance 
Are clouds of black and gray, 
With threads of silver shining through 
To cheer me day by day. 

Oh, brothers of the common path, 
Step firmly — climb and plod. 
The hour is dark, but on the heights 
There is the light of God. 



82 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

A SUMMARY 

The sun shone bright, the roses bloomed, 
The wild birds sang their tune. 
And all the world was gay and fair. 
For oh, ^twas June, 'twas June. 

The summer followed, sweet and long, 
Each night the stars above. 
It seemed the world was only made. 
For love, dear heart, for love. 

Then came the autumn, sad and sere. 
And tarnished nature seemed 
A mocking spectre of the past, 
When you and I had dreamed. 

The golden sun of life was spent, 
And when the twilight came. 
It brought me, \nth its tattered robes. 
The memory of your name. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 83 

THE GHOSTS OF YESTERDAY 

'Mid the golden glow of spring-time, 
'Mid the summer 's blue and rose, 
'Mid the autumn's brown and yellow 
And the winter's wind and snows, 

Though the days be filled with pleasure, 
Or the hours be long and gray. 
In the shadows of the Present 
Are the ghosts of Yesterday. 

Phantom voices seem to whisper 
With the wailing of the wind, 
While the raindrops softly patter 
On the pages of the mind. 

Back of every thought there lingers 
Memories dark, or memories dear; 
Back of every hope or effort 
There 's a hidden smile or tear. 

Time nor tide can ever blind us 
To the visions of the past, 
For the vital fire of memory 
Flames and flashes to the last. 

May that flame suffice to guide us. 
May that deep, unerring ray 
Give us strength to walk, unf earful. 
With our ghosts of Yesterday. 



84 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

HUMBLENESS 

I cannot weave the cloth of trade, 
Nor hew the stones of time, 
I cannot build the thrones of state, 
But let me pen a rhyme. 

I cannot boast of golden deeds. 
No armies can I sway, 
I wear no medals of the brave. 
But let me write a lay. 

I cannot paint a masterpiece, 
Nor wield the sculptor's knife. 
But let me touch the tuneful lyre, 
And sing to you of life. 

I'm not an actor, nor a sage. 
To hold the world in thrall, 
I only long to sing a song, 
To cheer you, that is all. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 85 

RETROSPECTION 

In the golden glory of other days, 
I live once more; 

The purple shadows and silver haze, 
My thoughts explore. 

I loved a man in the other days, 

I loved him well — 

Now would I offer my love and praise ? 

Ah, who can tell ? 

Under the moonlight of other years, 
I stand tonight ; 

But all is dead, the love and the fears. 
Have met with blight. 

I sang a song in the other years, 
A tender song; 

But ah, the silence of unshed tears 
Have hushed it long. 

I lived and loved in the other life. 
But that was dawn ; 
Now come shadows and sullen strife. 
And you are gone. 



S6 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

A CRIMSON ROSE 

You gave me a rose at parting, 

A crimson rose ; 

I have treasured the fragrant petals, 

Though no one knows 

The leaves are sere and faded, 

For I have kept them long. 

But in all their withered beauty, 

They still suggest a song; 

A song that my heart remembers, 

Though no one knows 

But the flower that you gave at parting, 

A crimson rose. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 87 

REMINISCENCE 

Let us turn back the leaves of the present, 

And live for an hour in the past, 

When love was the theme of our dreaming, 

We fancied no cloud eould 'er-cast 

The> sunlight and violet splendor 

That tinted with purple and gold 

The light of our living and loving, 

We thought it would never grow old ; 

You said you would never forget me, 

Oh, foolish and beautiful dreams. 

Those old days have vanished forever; 

Plow mythical all of it seems. 

Your eyes were so blue and so tender, 

Your voice was so thrilling and deep, 

A frown or a tone, I remember. 

Would cause me to smile or to weep; 

And yet, you are Avedding another, 

Your eyes look deep into hers. 

While that same gentle voice of persuasion 

Is artfully hiding the blurs; 

You are swearing the same old promise. 

She hears with a flush on her cheek 

Those old worn-out words of endearment 

That you knew so well how to speak. 

Ah, well, let our old dream lie buried, 

'Tis over, those pleasures are naught ; 

So, teach her the old sweet lessons. 



88 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

For you have been skillfully taught, 

While I shall smile on just as sweetly, 

To me the old love is passe; 

I find it surprisingly easy 

To toss it quite lightly away. 

I, too, have found it alluring 

To gaze into fathomless eyes ; 

I can picture your face, could j^ou see me. 

With its old look, of injured surprise. 

My lover is youthful and handsome. 

With a nature that loves and endures. 

And the pathway that stretches before me 

Is brighter, far brighter, than yours. 

There is not one thought of resentment, 

The memory, rather, is sweet. 

For the love that you brought me and taught me 

Makes my newer conception complete. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 89 



THE WAY OF WOMAN 

First I met her at the Opera 
In her box — and decollete, 
Picturesque as any duchess 
In her dreamy, southern way; 
Jewels gleaming like the starlight 
From her head and throat and arms. 
Velvet, ermine, lace and feathers 
Lent their richness to her charms. 
But the Opera, gay and gorgeous, 
As such Operas always are. 
From the ballet to the star 
She pronounced it all *' atrocious'', 
Thought the people were ^'debased" — 
Woke my lady's disapproval. 

Sighed and shrugged her creamy shoulders, 
Wishing it were all erased. 

Next I met her at the seaside, 

(Listen, while I whisper, pray,) 

And her inconsistent costume 

Almost took my breath away ; 

Why, the ballet paled beside her, 

In her nifty bathing suit, 

Yet I heard her sex remarking 

•' Pretty," '^stunning," '^ swell" and ^^eute. 

Woman, woman, where 's the difference. 

Will your explanation teach. 

Wearing those abbreviations 

On the stage, or on the beach? 



90 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

MY DEEAM 

One day beside a summer stream, 
I dozed and drifted in a dream, 
While, silver-throated, every bird 
Sang until my pulses stirred. 
And there beneath a willow tree 
My world was filled with melody ; 
You came, I heard you softly speak. 
And felt your breath upon my cheek ; 
Then to complete my blissfulness, 
Into each hand you shut a kiss, 
And I wakened at the thrill. 
The sun had sunk behind the hill, 
The birds had ceased their roundelay. 
And you had wandered far away; 
But in each hand I held the kiss. 
That meant to you but nothingness, 
And yet, that day, beside the stream, 
I gained the pleasure of a dream. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 9^ 

DEAD 

The day dawned gaily ^mid a burst of song, 

A rose smiled thru the lattice, near to me ; 

I pressed its crimson petals to my cheek 

And drank its dewy fragrance, lazily ; 

How bright, how cheerful, was the Universe, 

The joy of living pulsed thru every vein ; 

Could sorrow blight this happiness of mine. 

Could sun-lit Heavens blacken into rain? 

Then — suddenly a silence seemed to fall. 

Softly, like a mantle o'er the place. 

And in a shadowed corner of the room 

I seemed to see a vision of your face ; 

Tensely, I waited, and the waiting grew 

To hold for me a coming sense of dread — 

Then some one paused — and whispered — at my 

door, 
That sudden, sinister message — **He is dead'*. 



92 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

A MEMORY 

Only a look and a voice, 
A tense, mad moment of gladness, 
The touch of a hand and a smile. 
Then silence again — and a sadness. 

Only a flash in the dusk. 

Of dream eyes, filled with yearning, 

A phantom of hopeless love, 

And the touch of a hand — still burning. 

Oh, fancies, fevered and wild. 
Oh, tired heart, strangely throbbing, 
And then — the knell of life, 
The sound of a woman sobbing. 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 93 

THE OLD GOLD DAYS 

(Of Idaho) 

In the days of old when the thirst for gold 

Led men to the ' ' Buffalo Hump ^ ' — 

The Fool and the Sage, in the old gray stage 

That rattled o^er rut and bump — 

Their hearts were light and their eyes were 

bright, 
As they dreamed of the yellow rock. 
That lured them on, in the days bygone, 
With the rush of a hungry flock ; 
There were men from the East and West and 

South, 
Prom the frozen North, they came, 
For the news of ^^Gold'^ spreads wild, like fire, 
And the * ' Buffalo Hump ' ' gained fame. 
Grangeville Town was the Mecca then 
For all of the restless throng 
Who traveled forth with the greed for gold 
Regardless of right or wrong; 
There were wealthy men and men from the ^^Pen", 
There were gamblers, alert and keen. 
There were women too and not a few 
Of the type depraved and mean. 

here's many a man who lives today 
ith a memory tucked in his heart 



94 Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 

Of Grangeville Town and the ^* Jersey House *^ 

And '^The Hump," with its golden mart; 

Of the good old days, the bygone days, 

The rose-hued days of the past, 

When water was water and wine was wine, 

And the wheels of the world turned fast. 

Gone are the landmarks, one and all, 

Hushed are the tread of feet 

That traveled the old board sidewalks then, 

And danced on the Grangeville street. 

Gone are the bullies of gun-play fame, 

**Hypo Jack" and the ^^ dopes", 

The old stage coach is a relic, now ; 

Gone are plans and hopes. 

The gold lies hidden within the hills, 

Away from the eyes of men, 

And I know it will never be sought again — 

At least, as they sought it then. 

The days of old, and the days of gold. 

As we knew them then to be, 

Are numbered now with the dim by-gones 

They are only a memory. 



3477-253 
Lot 4S 



Rose Leaves and Old Dreams 95 

GOSSIP ONLY 

Many a poet, I am told, 

* * Prints and sells his past for gold. ' ' 

A poet^s past, I hardly think, 

Conld stand the glare of printer *8 ink. 

And yet, no doubt, a few may trace, 
A person, or a time, or place, 
And pity still the aching heart 
That would these idle tales impart. 

IVe fashioned so, as best I may, 
This book of verse and roundelay, 
And yet, and yet, lest I forget, 
There^s very little truth in it. 









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